


Intermittence

by stephanericher



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-22
Updated: 2018-06-22
Packaged: 2019-05-26 17:23:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,014
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15005708
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stephanericher/pseuds/stephanericher
Summary: She is Saw’s daughter; she’s kicked too many people’s asses trying to out-compete her to say she’s not the best fighter; the necklace hidden under her clothes leaves no doubt where she came from—but none of that is exactly who she is. And Enfys gets that, without Jyn having to scream and shove her way into being heard.





	Intermittence

**Author's Note:**

> so it's not inconceivable enfys & the cloud riders could have met up with saw & his rebellion at some point while jyn was still living with saw, & both rebel groups did rebel stuff together, right?
> 
>  
> 
> thank u val for igniting the spark of this ship inside me <3

Enfys’s eyes, across the dented durasteel table, flicker in the light, and Jyn cannot stop her own breath from impaling her throat from the inside out. Enfys’s gaze is steady, her eyes wide as they reflect the faulty electronics overhead, her face baring more emotion than Jyn has let show on her own face since Lah’mu, and in that there is a strength. A weakness, too, though without a willingness to flinch, but the byproduct of living a life behind a mask and a vocabulator. This isn’t the Enfys Nest, leader of the Cloud Riders, living legend of a pirate. This is Enfys Nest, a young woman letting her overtaxed body rest as best it can here.

“More?” says Jyn, holding out the carafe of tea.

Enfys waves it away. “I’m good for now, thanks.”

Jyn gets up to put the tea away, to be reheated stale in the morning, or for whoever’s on watch late at night (not, for once, either of them). It’s the best they have, a rebellion held together by the fragile glue of a cause they’re all fighting for but a cause whose meaning Jyn feels she’s lost. Too much, she thinks, Saw’s out to martyr himself, and something inside of her says, like your mother did. Or maybe that’s what Saw’s expecting of her; too much he treats her like her parents, more so lately. She’s fifteen; she’s not Lyra and she’s not Galen, either.

Jyn looks back at Enfys, and Enfys looks back at her, silent, giving her room to think. Enfys does not try to place Jyn in a box, best fighter, their daughter—Saw’s daughter, like everyone else does. She is Saw’s daughter; she’s kicked too many people’s asses trying to out-compete her to say she’s not the best fighter; the necklace hidden under her clothes leaves no doubt where she came from—but none of that is exactly who she is. And Enfys gets that, without Jyn having to scream and shove her way into being heard. She simply sees, and trust Jyn with this version of herself—tired of arguing approaches with Saw, tired of the legwork that doesn’t seem to be going anywhere.

“Five standard hours,” says Enfys. “Weazel got me the intel, and we’re going out on the job then.”

“You just got back,” says Jyn, trying to keep any bitterness from rising in her voice.

“I know,” says Enfys. “It won’t be a long one. But we’d better get to sleep.”

“Right,” says Jyn.

She shuts off the lights in the makeshift kitchen as they leave. The back of her hand brushes Enfys’s, and Enfys turns her palm around faster than a reflex. She has a couple of inches on Jyn in height (she’s a little older; Jyn’s got time to catch up) but their hands are exactly the same size. Both rough, callouses from blasters, fingers that slide into familiar grips around weapons even when there’s only air. Or someone else’s hand, but that’s a rarity here.

(Sometimes, Jyn lets herself get a little carried away, stuck with a blanket that’s useless against the cold where they are or too wired from the day to sleep, letting her mind drift until it settles on the same buoy, always. If she and Enfys could be like the older couples, few and far between, one person coming home to the other and sitting together around the fire, lapsing into a warm familiarity, slipping away after all acknowledgements have been made. Something as permanent as anything ever gets among this fast and loose group. She always reaches for her necklace, as if to ward off tempting fate so they won’t die tomorrow and leave each other and all of this.)

Jyn cups Enfys’s face and kisses her; she tastes like salt and tea. Her hands are firm on Jyn’s waist; Jyn’s hands move to tangle up in Enfys’s curls, deceptively soft. She wants this moment suspended, before they remember they’re crammed into a tiny bunk with just a flimsy curtain separating them from the next one over. Jyn pushes Enfys’s hair away from her face, to watch her eyes still shining, what she can make out in the low light of the shape of her mouth, her nose, her cheeks, her freckles, her ears.

“You,” Enfys whispers. “Force.”

Her voice crackles in the air like a loose sparkplug, and Jyn kisses her again, trying to stuff that feeling right down Enfys’s throat. Enfys kisses back, pushing Jyn down against the bed, breaking for breath when Jyn brushes her fingers straight down the shells of Enfys’s ears.

“Jyn,” Enfys says. “Make room?”

“You can just sleep on top of me,” Jyn says.

Enfys pushes herself up on her hands, leaning over Jyn. She shrugs off her cape; still in her clothes with her hair and back free she looks like an ideal. The proud warrior maiden of the holodramas none of them are supposed to have time to watch but do, undercover or snuck when there’s downtime. Like that, but tired and real, no fathier to ride on and no antique, impractical weapon slung over her shoulders. Jyn kicks off her boots, undoes her belt, and tucks herself against the wall. She hears the rustle of Enfys removing the next layer of clothes, and then the weight of the cape lands on top of her. Enfys climbs in the bed to join her under it, pressing herself close. She places a kiss on the side of Jyn’s neck, under where her hair is tucked.

Enfys takes the cloak when she leaves. Jyn’s had worse nights than shivering alone under a shabby flat sheet, but it’s worse when the memory of warmth is so recent. It’s only an hour before her turn on watch; she’s set her chrono but she probably won’t need it.

When Jyn dozes off, her hand is wrapped around her necklace. Which thought of wishes for a quick, safe mission is her last coherent and conscious one, she can’t say. But when she wakes up again her eyes are clear.

**Author's Note:**

> i have /no/ idea how old enfys is supposed to be. i'd say her actress's age, but jyn is apparently supposed to be 21 in r1 (which i learned halfway through writing this) so i'm just gonna round down a lot and say she's 2 or 3 years older than jyn


End file.
